Finding Remus
by BrownRecluse
Summary: When Hermione invites Remus to a convention, things take a turn for the strange. What's in those lycanthropy treatments Remus has been taking, why's Snape so surly-and who's that with him? Post-HPDH. Eventual SS/HG. Complete.


As always, J. K. Rowling owns these characters. I'm just borrowing for a bit of fun. No Galleons have exchanged hands in the making of this fan fiction.

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><p><strong>Finding Remus<strong>

~ A giftfic for Voxangelus ~

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><p>He was not on the corner. Where they'd agreed to meet. Here. This corner. Today. At nine-fifteen. Nine-fifteen. Precisely.<p>

A stickler for punctuality, she'd held up her end, teeth chattering, one hand white-knuckling the stem of a yellow plaid umbrella, so where was he? Bright yellow plaid: who could miss such an ugly thing? Unless he was colorblind… was he? Scowling, gnawing at the inside of her cheek, Hermione considered the possibility. Men were prone to that sort of thing, seeing the world in shades of _uck_ and _bleh_, and because the man in question was a werewolf, which technically made him part canine – okay, more of a _dog-like-thing_ – still, part dog! – and all dogs_ were_ colorblind, so… it still did not explain why a grown man could not read a watch or a simple street sign!

Hermione glanced at her watch. _Nine twenty-three! _Did he forget? Oversleep? She scanned the street, but saw only other umbrella-carrying commuters and a couple of diehard runners sloshing their way through the morning rain. A rain that turned to mist the moment it hit the street, creating a foggy odd-light and imbuing everything it touched with a slow, trancelike quality. Everything, that is, except time, which was still tick-tick-ticking away, each passing second conjugating frustration: _He's late, I'm late, we're late._ _I _knew_ this might happen. I should have met him at Grimmauld Place. _

A sudden gust ripped the umbrella from her hand. Helpless, she watched it dip-dive across the intersection, crashing into construction cones and streetlights. Then an updraft caught it, and carried it over the awning of the local Book King and out of sight. _Brilliant._ Sighing, she stepped into the street.

"Don't!" Someone screamed.

Hermione turned, just as it burst through the fog bank. A double-decker behemoth with lights blazing, horn blaring, and hurtling straight at her. Her legs turned to stone and her hands hung limp at her sides. All Hermione could do was stare, transfixed by the evil, bug-bright eyes glowering beneath its oversized carapace: its searing, nearing, yellow headlights. _This is what a deer feels like,_ she thought, _right before it—_

Hands seized the back of her coat and yanked. Wrenching her off balance and out of her trance, they pulled her out of the street and over the curb. Unable to control her body's trajectory, she flew backward, crashing into something large and soft, which grunted. Oblivious, the bus barreled past, spraying her with dirty water and belching stinky blue smoke as it sped away. Slack-jawed, Hermione watched the fog swallow it, lights, sound, and smell, almost as if it had never been there at—

"You should be more careful, miss."

Shakily, Hermione turned to find a scowling man. A very large person, whose plastic rain poncho looked more like a tent. Peering around one of his round shoulders was an elderly woman, also covered in blue plastic.

"Thank you." Hermione stammered.

"You kids," he said, starting away. "Heads always in the clouds: you look, but you don't _see_."

Hermione didn't have to "look" too deeply to "see" that her hair was soaked and her new military jacket, the one she'd been saving just for the convention today, was covered in oily stains. Muttering a few of her favorite four-letter words, she squished into the nearest alleyway. A flick of her wand and a quick, _Scourgify_ later, Hermione, freshly dressed but still fuming, slipped out of hiding and stomped up the street.

Fifteen minutes later, she found him near Kensington Gardens. She'd been silently rehearsing a little speech about the merits of timeliness during her impromptu search, but after seeing him in such an utterly disheveled state, all that came out of her mouth was a half-exasperated, "Honestly!" Remus Lupin looked like the saddest man ever to sit on a park bench in the rain. What else was there to say?

Wearing an expression that fell somewhere between a hangdog look and a sheepish grin, Lupin rose from his seat. "Don't say it, I already know," he said, offering her a paper cup. "Please accept this tea as a peace offering."

She took the cup, but couldn't help noticing how badly his hand was trembling. "I was beginning to think I'd lost you," she said.

"I think I got turned about a bit somewhere…" Remus gestured toward the park, and then raked a hand through his limp hair. "I'm just not myself today. It's those blasted treatments." Not waiting for her response, he said, "After yesterday's, I went to the gate in Diagon Alley, but when I wasn't able to open it – well, I… I guess I just… Damn!" He dashed his cup of tea against a nearby trash bin.

"Remus, it's…" Hermione wanted to reassure him, tell him that everything was just fine, but it wasn't. _He_ wasn't. His lycanthropy, the were-virus responsible for his dual nature, which helped save him from death during the Battle of Hogwarts, was now, for reasons unknown, wreaking havoc with his mind, his health. From the look of him, the treatments at St. Mungo's weren't helping. Pale, thin, and stoop-shouldered, the man who stood before her was a shadow of the friend she once knew, a scarecrow in frayed, brown tweed. Glancing at his graying temples and gaunt cheeks, Hermione wondered, how much longer could he live like this?

Echoing her thoughts, Remus said softly, "No, it's not… If Harry hadn't set a recognition charm over Grimmauld Place, I'd be sleeping on the streets." When he met her gaze, his eyes were bright. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come, Hermione. You've worked so hard on this project and I'll just be in the way…"

"Rubbish!" She tossed her tea in the bin and linked her arm through his. "Besides, I haven't seen you in ages! We can catch up along the way!" Gently, she guided him down the street.

"It's been the better part of a year, give or take, but who's counting?" Brightening somewhat, eager to change the subject, he said, "What did you say the name of your group was, again?"

"The Coalition of Magical Beings. We promote equal opportunity and freedom from persecution for all minority entities: Centaurs, House-Elves, Vampires, and of course, Werewolves." Nudging him, Hermione beamed. "The convention today is a victory celebration of sorts."

"C.O.M.B.," Remus chuckled. "I'll bet your motto's, 'Detangling the knots of prejudice at every turn.'" He flashed an impish grin and in that moment, a glimmer of the old Remus shone through. "From what I've heard, you've been enjoying yourself."

"Working with Kingsley this past year has been an amazing experience," said Hermione. "None of this would have happened without him!"

"I think you're being far too humble," Remus said. "A quality you'll have to adjust if you're considering a career in politics, I'm afraid." He favored her with a playful wink.

"A year ago, I would have agreed – about a career in politics, that is – but now, I find I'd rather work on the occasional project and leave politicking to those who have the aptitude for that sort of thing," said Hermione. "It's exhausting!"

"Speaking of which, I must say, I think being the Minister of Magic suits Kingsley – well, his wardrobe, at least."

Moments later, the laughing pair turned their backs on London's soggy-bottomed bustle and headed down an alleyway between two abandoned buildings. Wind whistled through the empty sockets of their broken windows, and spray can graffiti festooned their crumbling brick walls. In the few spots not littered with bits of broken glass and soggy trash, thin clumps of frostbitten grass poked dejectedly through the alley's cracked, uneven pavement. A ramshackle, shed-like structure with a corrugated roof stood at its end.

"Remarkable shielding charm, Hermione," said Remus.

Not having the heart to tell him it wasn't, Hermione said, "This part's a surprise!" She tapped the lock securing a circlet of rusty chains with her wand. Squealing in protest, the lift's shuttered iron gates slid open. A delicious aroma, attended by soft strains of music, wafted up and over them as the car rose to street level.

Remus eyed it nervously. "We're going underground?"

"Criss Crossing – at least, it was until the Hogwarts Express was rerouted. Now it's part of the Underall Network. A Magical landmark."

"I'd heard about this station and the tunnels being used as a sanctuary during the Death Eater attacks," said Remus, "but didn't believe it," he glanced at Hermione before continuing, "and no, not because it's Muggle-built; but like so many things that happened during the war it seemed Inconceivable." He ran his hands reverently over the elevator's scarred, steel walls. "Now we're here, inside it, inside history," he said, "if these walls could speak."

The lift juddered to a halt. When its doors squealed open, Remus whistled through his teeth.

"Wait until you see the rest!" Hermione guided him onto a wide walkway.

To one side of them, a row of Floos flashed dazzling green and gold as conventioneers exited their hearths in animated groups. Hexagonal paving stones covered the old train tracks, converting them into a colorful street where troupes of wandering musicians strolled and performing artists delighted travelers with their juggling and acrobatic antics. Then forking, a narrower portion curved away from the old platform and into the station's recesses, ending in a series of Apparation Foyers. Between the arched stone buttresses along the main platform, floating signs directed attendees to symposiums and vendors, as well as indicating passageways to Oldewych, Night's Bridge, and Diagon Alley. High above, an undulating stream of will-o'-the-wisps provided a festive, golden glow.

"Incredible!" Remus said, gazing from the main platform into the main convention area. "It looks just like the Old Great Hall at St. Helling's!"

"Brilliant, isn't it!" The pair turned to the sound of the deep, familiar voice. Arms wide, Kingsley Shacklebolt, resplendent in an embroidered crimson cap and robe, swept out of a nearby passageway. Without looking at them he said, "And Criss Crossing's central location makes it accessible from virtually any spot in the Wizarding World! Perfect for weddings, family outings, for any group and any kind of gath – er…er…" Then recognition dawned, quashing his well-rehearsed magnanimity. "Oh, it's _you_," he said. "About time!"

"Sorry," said Hermione.

"We had a bit of a late start," said Lupin. "My fault, not hers."

"Oh, before I forget…" Kingsley reached inside one of his voluminous sleeves, producing an odd, oval pendant from a pocket in its velvet pleats. One side of the disc was black, while the outward-facing side resembled a mirror. A braided leather cord pierced through the upper portion of the disc, but left no perceptible hole. "I'm so pleased with the way they turned out," he said. "Now all our attendees will have a keepsake of this day! A symbol of all we have accomplished and hope to accomplish in the future: to see ourselves in others and others in ourselves. So much nicer than a name badge, don't you think? This one's for you." He handed it to Hermione.

"A mirror?" Remus stared at him incredulously.

In the distance, a clock tolled the hour.

"Merlin's beard! Already?" Kingsley threw his hands in the air and wailed. "There's still so much to do before the opening address! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to the concessions booths. Winky's giving out free sausage samples to promote her new catering endeavor, and I just heard that the Blavatsky brothers have brought a barrel of their finest Bloody Ruse from Transylvania! It's never been available here legally, and I'm just dying for a taste! Well, see you inside!" With that, he whisked away into the crowd.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think he'd already had too much Bloody Ruse," Remus said. "Did he seem a bit strange to you?"

"No more than usual," said Hermione. Then she chuckled. "He always so flustered before giving a speech. Here," she offered Remus the pendant. "Don't worry; it's _charmed_, not silvered."

Remus turned it slowly in one hand. For such a small object, it possessed an almost formidable weight and chill, a cold that seemed to burn. "Charmed, you say," he said slowly.

"Yes, for vampires, of course."

"Of course…" Remus peered into the mirror's softly rippling surface. Expecting to see a reflected stream of glowing will-o'-the-wisps overhead, he was shocked to see only thick cobweb swags between crumbling buttresses. Blinking back disbelief, he looked again. The cobwebs remained, but beneath them an unsettling shadow shifted in the station's gloom and seemed to mimic his every move. "What in the name of Archimago," he began, but the air about him thickened, the flagstones suddenly listed beneath his feet, and the pendant slipped from his fingers. His knees buckled and he crumpled on the walkway.

"Remus? Remus!"

Hermione's voice sounded so far away.

"Sorry… Must've stumbled." Rising shakily, bracing himself against one of the buttresses, Remus stared in amazement. No longer dusty and crumbling, it was unblemished and clean. "Curious," he said.

Laying a hand on his sleeve, Hermione said, "Remus, if you're not up to this, we could always leave."

"No, it's nothing," he said, "Some silly side effect from my treatments. So clumsy of me." He chuckled weakly. "You know, one of Winky's sausages would really hit the spot right now. I didn't have much of an this morning, and..."

"Of course," said Hermione, somewhat mollified by his explanation. "I could fancy a bite, myself." With that, she steered him inside.

Booths of all shapes and sizes crowded the main convention hall. As they made their way to the food vendors at its far end, exotic sights and smells tempted them at every turn. Whiffs of sandalwood and blood ambergris wafted out to greet them from Enthralling Essences, a Vampire perfume franchise, and rare crystals glinted the hilts of gleaming swords at Mogrod's Mettle, a Goblin-owned business. Another smithy, owned by a family of Centaurs, featured a working forge amid its formidable assortment of crossbows and spears, and a dizzying array of musical charms, baubles, and trinkets whirred and tinkled from the flaps of one hag's tent. Overhead, a squadron of flying trays from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes whizzed about the hall, showering conventioneers with edible confetti and other free samples of George's most popular wares.

"Leave it to George," said Remus, eyeing the W-shaped formation.

One tray at the end of the unit doubled back and hovered in front of the pair, as if daring them to sample its Skiving Snackbox assortment. "Pestilent Petit Fours and Malingering Macaroons?" Remus made a face. "Thanks, but I'm not that hungry."

Although it should've zipped away on its business, the tray remained.

"Didn't you hear me?" Remus said, leaning into it. "Shoo!"

It wouldn't budge.

Turning to Hermione, Remus said, "Guess we'd better tell George: this one's defective."

"Hey, if that's free food, we'll take it," said a lanky youth. "Over here!" He and his comrades began waving and whistling.

Trailing confetti, the tray glided over to the three boys, who began gobbling its contents with greedy delight. "You don't know what y'er missin'," one said, moments before his face turned a very peculiar shade.

"Er… Enjoy!" Remus called after them.

A Romani Witch's wagon was now all that stood between the pair and a savory treat. As they approached, a familiar figure burst through its beaded curtain. Sybill Trelawney took one look at Hermione and nearly tumbled headlong down the bright red wagon's steps. "Stop! Wait!"

Around them, conventioneers stopped bartering and browsing. An uncomfortable silence settled over their end of the hall.

"Sybill! Lovely to see you out and about," said Remus, flashing her a brittle smile. "Have you come to tell us what Lady Fate has in store, today?"

Ignoring him, the frizzy-haired seer advanced on Hermione. "Oh, my dear, my dear, dear girl – take care! A shadow is upon you. Beware! Beware!"

_Today? Seriously?_ "Professor Trelawney," Hermione began, "Remus and I were just–"

"No! No! It is a shadow," said Sybill, her voice, normally frothy with portent, now rising into a fever-pitched screech. "A_ shadow_ walks beside you. A shadow!" Imprisoned by her augury's momentous thrall, Sybill began circling Hermione, but when she reached the spot where Remus stood, she jerked back and shrieked. "It's worse – much, much worse than I feared." she said. "A malingering darkness! A _palpable_ shade!"

"I was only joking." Remus pulled Hermione close to him. "Really, Sybill."

"Stop it!" Hermione threw herself between them. "Remus said he was sorry."

Murmurs and guffaws rippled through the crowd, many of whom were already elbowing and shoving their way forward for a better view of the spectacle. From the sidelines, quills scratched and magical cameras _fwumped_ and flashed. Curious to see what all the fuss was about, one group's members transfigured themselves into a small colony of bats. Wheeling about the periphery, they watched the unfolding drama with hungry interest. Only one wizard, a man in black, decided to intervene.

"Please…" trailing off, Sybill stared vacantly.

"Why can't you just leave us–"

"She can't see him, Miss Granger." Drawing out each syllable as though he were parsing and ancient text, Severus Snape stepped through the crowd. "None of them can."

"You and I can see him, but they can't?" Hermione glared at him. "Rubbish!"

"No, he's right." Remus hung his head. "It's my treatments; there's something about them I haven't told you."

"Lupin," Severus said sharply.

"She deserves an explanation, Severus." Leaning into Hermione, he said in a low voice, "As I'm sure you've already guessed, they're not wolfsbane. The therapy is experimental, and, well, quite—"

"What in Hecate's name is happening here?" Cap askew, Kingsley Shacklebolt burst through the crowd. Slavering for a scoop on the latest scandal, Rita Skeeter followed, hot on his heels.

"Kingsley," sighed Remus. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a misunderstanding…"

Kingsley turned. "I beg your pardon?"

Skeeter shook her head. "I didn't say anything, Minister."

Shacklebolt scratched his head. "Just now, I could've sworn I heard…" Turning to Hermione, he said, "Of course, that's not possible."

"I think I heard something too." One of the onlookers pointed to Hermione. "It's a trick!"

"No, it's a spirit," said another, "hunting her, just like the seer said!"

"She's a necromancer ," a hoary-eared Goblin spat. "Nasty business, that!"

"Forgive me, Hermione. I think I've just unwittingly started Wizarding War Three," Remus whispered.

"Why, that's ridiculous," Skeeter clipped. "No spell can raise the dead!"

"No _spell _is required, only the _desire_ for reawakening," a melodic voice replied imperiously from a nearby swirl of mist.

A statuesque redhead with skin as creamy as her silk shift - a sylph more suited for immortalization on an artist's canvas than in a column of enchanted newsprint - a being with an _obvious_ disdain for foundation garments of any kind - suddenly materialized beside Skeeter, startling her so badly she nearly impaled herself on her Quick-Quotes Quill. A wry smile playing upon her lips, she added, "Isn't that right, Severus?"

"Ooooh!" While Skeeter eyed the unlikely couple, her charmed, but less-than-enchanting, quill started scribbling on its floating notepad.

"And this must be your darling Hermione!" The ethereal woman clasped her hands against her chest. "Severus has told me so much about you."

_"Darling?_ Why, Severus, you old dog!" Goggle-eyed Remus turned to him. "And all this time, I thought you two were… " He motioned to the barely dressed vampire.

"All _what_ time?" Hermione bristled. "Severus, _who_ is _she_?"

"Ever the double agent, eh, Severus? I guess love is the Darkest Art of all," Skeeter cackled. "Oh, this is just juicy!"

Impervious to cackles or bristles, the strange woman glided over to Lupin on a tendril of mist. "Oh, Remus, I must say, you're looking a little worse for the wear, since last we met."

Kingsley gawped at the women. "Have you both gone mad? There's no one…" trailing off, he gestured helplessly at the spot between them.

"Severus, I demand an explanation!" Fists clenched, Hermione started toward him.

"Hermione… don't." Remus, ashen-faced, stayed her with one hand. "She said this might happen." He nodded to the woman. "Hermione, this is Estrella de'Mortis, head of lycanthropic research at Invisible University."

"You _knew_ about this?" Hermione shot at Severus.

He stiffened, but his face remained a mask. "While you and Kingsley were gallivanting across Great Britain paving a path for magical equality, Estrella and I were _secretly_ –" pausing, he shot Lupin a meaningful glance "— collaborating on this project."

_What other secrets have you been keeping from me?_ Hermione wondered.

Brow slightly arched and an ever-so-imperceptible smirk playing upon his lips, Severus silently savored her jealousy.

Remus sighed, "Unfortunately, the serum produces certain, _untoward_ side effects – one of them being an insidious diminishment of magical ability. In other words, it makes me virtually invisible in this world." He shrugged. "It's the reason I couldn't enter Diagon Alley yesterday. I thought the effects would abate overnight – as usual – but then, this morning, when I saw only a shadow in your charmed mirror…" He waved at pendant around Hermione's neck. "As much as I hate to admit this, Sybill was right just now."

"Invisible University?" Hermione scowled.

Remus squeezed her hands. "Now, don't look so worried, Hermione!"

Nodding, she said to herself, "A reactive component…"

"We're _this_ close to a cure!" He measured the distance to the probable future between the thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Think of it!"

"Vampire blood," she said flatly. "They've been injecting you with vampire blood." Her mind raced forward, exploring all possible ramifications of that statement.

"I've been given every assurance that the effects are just temporary." Desperate, Remus turned to Snape. "Tell her, Severus."

Severus turned to Estrella.

A look passed between them.

A conversation conveyed in a glance.

"Severus?"

He turned to Remus. "You knew there would be… risks."

Estrella cleared her throat, silencing him. "Any scientific endeavor is, by nature, a _fluid_ process, and as such, must _evolve_ through a series of modifications to address existent or suspected _imperfections_ in the…" She shook her head. Then, opening her arms to him, as if in supplication, she said, "We learn from our mistakes, no?"

"Oh." Remus winced.

"Destroying the wizard as well as the werewolf is more than a _mistake_, it's – it's – _ghastly_ – a _grossly_ unethical violation of – of…" Hermione spluttered. "Remus, I can't believe you consented to this!"

Rounding on Snape, she added, "And _you!_ You – who're supposed to be his _friend!_"

Almost no one seemed to notice that darkness was falling fast on the beat of black wings. First doubling, and then tripling in number, the twittering colony of bats overhead was becoming a burgeoning thunderhead - a flapping, funneling darkness that sucked unsuspecting will-o'-the-wisps into its churning eddy.

"Hermione, there was no other way," Remus murmured.

"You could have avoided this, you know," Snape drawled.

"How would that have looked, Severus? I couldn't disappoint Hermione on her special day!"

"We had an agreement, Lupin." Snape folded his hands in his cloak.

"Is that _really_ you, Remus?" Shacklebolt patted the spot between Hermione and Estrella with tentative hands.

Clapping him on the shoulder, Remus said, "In the flesh, Kingsley… well, more or less."

Realization finally dawning, the Minister rounded on Snape. "Experimenting with a live subject? Avalon's Mists! You'll be clapped in Azkaban for this!"

"For making medical history? I think not," Estrella sniffed. "Do you not think we planned for this very contingency?" She flashed Severus a toothy grin.

"No-no-no-no-no," Hermione moaned.

"Medical-shmedical! Open your eyes, Minister," Rita Skeeter shrilled. "Their purported cure for lycanthropy is a ruse as bloody as Blavatsky's contraband wine!"

"Liquor – _it's liquor_ – and it's delicious." Kingsley poked the notepad. "You can quote me on that." He hiccoughed.

The pink plume swatted his hand away, and then resumed its furious scratching.

Skeeter wheeled to face the crowd. "Are all of you blind? They're creating an army of Vampires – and she's behind it!" She jabbed a meticulously manicured finger at Hermione. "All her talk about unity and equality this past year has been just twaddle! Why do you think she lured you all here today? Well, I won't stand for it!"

A wand suddenly appeared in her pointing hand.

Frissons of fear and confusion rippled through the crowd.

"I would reconsider that course of action if I were you." Estrella signaled to the swirling cumulonimbus overhead.

"As well as your usual escape plan," Snape drawled. "They eat _insects,_ you know."

"Beezles." Shacklebolt sagely nodded.

"All I wanted to eat was a sausage," Remus wailed.

Skeeter recoiled. "I hadn't thought of that." She twiddled the wand in her hand for a moment. Then, sighing, she lowered it. "Right, then."

"There's a good girl." Shacklebolt patted her arm. "Never dreamed I'd be saying this – to you, of all people – but, the quill is mightier than –"

Her wand rose so fast, it almost put out his eye. _"Aurora Conflagros!"_

A lightning bolt zinged from the wand's tip. Striking the center of the bat dervish, it exploded, filling the room with blinding light and blazing heat. Bats nearest the blast's epicenter turned to ash on contact. The unlucky rest of the lot burst into flame and fell screeching into the crowd.

The walls of the old station shuddered. Silt, raining from the cracked ceiling, shrouded everything in a gritty grey veil. Roiling and thick, noxious clouds of dust and smoke filled the crowded hall. Panicked and blinded, screaming conventioneers began pushing and shoving, overturning booths and tables, and trampling one another in their efforts to escape.

"Remus? Severus?" Gagging from the acrid stench, groping blindly, Hermione staggered forward. Her toe caught something on the floor. Something that felt large and soft and terribly still as she toppled over it. Behind her, someone pushed – hard. The flagstones crumbled beneath her feet and then she was falling, falling, falling…

Plummeting into nothingness, grey and unfathomable.

Then bolting upright, swallowing a scream.

"Oh."

Pale morning stippled the tiny room with silvery light.

Beside her, in a tangle of sheets, Severus watched her resurface from the realm of In-Between.

"You were very far away just now." He stroked her arm. "For a moment, I didn't think you were coming back."

Snuggling beside him, Hermione traced the angle of his jaw to a series of puckered scars on his neck. "You know, for a moment, I didn't, either." She shivered. "We were at the convention again and… and…" but all of a sudden, she could not find the words. They, much like the images in her head, dissipated when she reached for them.

Like breath on a mirror.

Like smoke on a breeze.

"I suspect you're just working through some last minute anxiety." Severus shook his head. "Always working… even in your sleep." He lowered himself over her. "Really, Miss Granger," he murmured between kisses, "you must learn how to relax."

"And how would you suggest I do that, Master Snape?" She wriggled against his familiar warmth and weight.

He nudged her gently with his hips.

Wrapping herself around him, carried on his gentle rhythm, Hermione whispered, "Seriously, Severus, do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"Oh, absolutely, Miss Granger," he chuckled. "Absolutely!"

_~~ Finite Incantatem ~~_


End file.
